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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397858">The Midwife</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee/pseuds/BrightneeBee'>BrightneeBee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Midwife [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call the Midwife, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega Triad, Bondage and Discipline, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knotting, LGBTQA+ Relationship, Light BDSM, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath &amp; Recovery, Multi, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jenny Lee, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Predator/Prey, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Restraints, Size Difference, Size Kink, Submissive Jenny Lee, Switch Bucky Barnes, Switch Jenny Lee, Therapy, Top Bucky Barnes, Trauma, Triad relationship, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, mention of miscarriage, primal play</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:22:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee/pseuds/BrightneeBee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A rumble started deep in his chest, a bone-quaking sound like a volcano soon to erupt. It curled through her effortlessly, a primal command guiding her attention up to his face. His gaze pinned her in place with a heavy weight, flaring with prepossession. She drank him in, that earthy, woodsy bouquet of him. The man’s scent rushed over the back of her tongue like an avalanche of pheromones, burying her alive with ease. She breathed it in, gulped it down, and relished the pleasant cloudiness creeping in around her periphery. He was all that she needed, and everything she wanted. A mountain refusing to yield to the worst winter storms, grounding her as the world spun out of her control.  </p><p>  <i>Alpha.</i></p><p>  <i>Home.</i></p><p>He took a step forward. </p><p>And then another.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Jenny Lee, James "Bucky" Barnes/Jenny Lee/Steve Rogers, Jenny Lee/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Midwife [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159604</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is under a massive overhaul with the help of my beta, @fundamentalblue</p><p>The Midwife will be minimally similar to the completed work that has been taken down, and the first installment of a 3 (or 4) part series. Instead of an only Steve/Jenny a/b/o fic, this will be Bucky/Jenny/Steve triad endgame. It will include trauma resolution, omegaverse themes, BDSM-themes (consensual), and people finding their place out of time. </p><p>Be kind, drop a line!</p><p>No Regrets!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Midwife</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Prologue</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>April 2014. The Vault.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Washington, D.C. </b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Each breath caught in her throat. Sharp, piercing cold paralyzing her, while surges of searing heat seeped through her veins, oozing like an infection. Drumming and stabbing down to the marrow of her bones. She didn’t know where she was, or what was happening. The ability to rub her arms, or scratch at the glands on either side of her throat was useless. Everything hurt. Her limbs were heavy, sticking to a flat surface. A low hum of electricity rang in her ears, and the hairs on the nape of her neck lifted. </p><p>She heard voices, distorted by the listless beat of her heart, a pressure building in her ears.  </p><p>“Must kill you to let him have her.” Tension gripped the space between her shoulder blades. Her chest tightened, breath becoming discordant in shallow, painful bursts of air catching in her lungs. Then a second man responded with a low snarl from deep in his chest, and she shuddered, trying to recoil. “Stop posturing, Agent. If this fails, you’ll have your chance. Just keep your eye on Captain Rogers and report back. The Asset still has one last mission before Project Insight launches in a few weeks, and then the next chapter begins.” </p><p>“As you say, sir.” The other man, Agent, grunted the reply. After a pause, he spoke again. “Maybe we should call her the Midwife. Less taboo than Mother Superior. She wasn’t even a nun, right?” </p><p>The first man chuckled. There was an edge to it that made her stomach churn, nauseating and slow. “The Midwife. I like that.” There was a pause, and then he asked, “Status report?” </p><p>“She arrived from Von Strucker’s facility last night.” It sounded as though Agent was reading from a clipboard, bland and to the point. “No discernable results from the experimentation and testing. Only thing that kept her alive was the serum trials in ‘92. Some success in the chair, but nothing consistent. Docs did a full workup on her during the night, nothing found. Everything’s in working order, sir. She’s the only surviving omega candidate in the organization’s history. They even dosed her with heat accelerants before shipping her to us.”</p><p>“Thank you, Agent. I’ll take that,” the other man replied, off-handedly. “Doctor, I need to speak with you.”</p><p>She flinched when roughened knuckles brushed over the line of her cheekbone. Agent made a lecherous sound, a throaty growl that had her cringing. She whined, straining to get away from his touch. He held her jaw in a vicious grip, forcing her head back to a centered position. She could smell him underneath his strong cologne, as repellant as rotting meat. </p><p>“Look at me, Omega.” </p><p>Another shrill whimper escaped her, but she obeyed. The grain of his voice overrode the instinct to cringe. She went rigid, opening her eyes against her will. </p><p>The overhead lights made her eyes ache, and yet she couldn’t force them closed, or wince at the brightness. She couldn’t do anything but stare up into the man’s licentious features, punctuated by his dark, unsettling eyes as his lips pulled back in a savage smile. There were a multitude of things the man could do to her, especially in her position, unable to flee. </p><p>In the seconds before he moved, her mind flashed through how he could rip her apart with the short points of his canines. Yet, she never expected him to lean down and lick the tears streaming from the corner of her eye. The flat of his tongue was searing hot against her thawing skin. She felt bile rising at the back of her throat, on the heels of a strangled yowl clawing its way out of her chest. </p><p>“Easy, Agent.” The other man warned from a few steps away, but Agent’s head was in the way. “We wouldn’t want the Asset to kill her before you get your chance.” </p><p>Then Agent turned her head to the side to expose the length of her neck and dipped down to inhale her scent. She choked and sniffled when his nose brushed against the itchy, perspiring gland nestled along the slope where her throat met her shoulder. When he licked over the gland, his coarse cheek rubbed against her own. It was like a thousand needles cutting into her flesh, her skin as delicate as a rose petal. </p><p>She squirmed, a strangled yowl clawing its way out of her chest, escaping past cracked lips as she jerked in her bindings. </p><p>“Mmm.” Agent’s voice was a deep hum, his tongue licking up from her gland to trace the shell of her ear. His breath was blisteringly humid as it coasted over the curve of her jaw and clung to the tangled locks of hair hugging her face. “Like warm apple pie.” </p><p>“That’s enough, Agent Rumlow.” The older man barked. “Get the Betas to clean her up before she’s thrown in with the Asset. We only have a brief window of time before she’s worthless to the cause.” </p><p>Rumlow. </p><p>Agent Rumlow. </p><p>Not ‘Agent.’ An agent. The agent. Agent Rumlow. But not ‘Agent.’ </p><p>
  <em> Agent Rumlow.  </em>
</p><p>He held her jaw painfully tight and leered before letting go. There was something unholy in him, worse than sin. It was like oily sludge oozing over her, inside of her. She wanted to shrink in on herself and disappear, and she would have if she could. If God existed, he was not in the room, but there was no mistaking Agent Rumlow was. His parting look was minacious, and she wanted nothing more than to never feel his touch again. </p><p>She fell slack in her restraints when he followed his superior out, but the respite lasted a moment. </p><p>There were disoriented groans and growls that hadn’t registered in the background. Through the buzzing of electricity, she noticed it. The scent of rich leather and metal infused the stagnant air, robust as it rolled over the back of her tongue. There was something comforting and familiar about the scent. She knew it, but she couldn’t remember. </p><p>The whir of machinery rang in her ears. She flinched again, head snapping back against the hard metal table. Swallowing the taste of acid creeping up her throat, she squinted against the harsh lighting and strained against the shackles bolted around her ankles and wrists. She looked around in search of the source of the growling; the timber resonating in her like a primal entreaty. </p><p>“I’ll leave you to prep the Soldier, Agent Rollins. We’ll take the omega.” </p><p>Through narrowed eyes, she made out the silhouettes of people in white coats standing around a larger table. They were giving it a wide berth, but she couldn’t see past them to make out who or what they secured to the slanted slab. She knew that the deep, stilted snarls reverberating through the air and settling in her bones were coming from the alpha the White Coat Men were referring to as <em> the Soldier. </em> </p><p>The Soldier. The Asset. But her mind and body yearned for <em> alpha. </em></p><p>Growing warmer by the second, she sniffled and twisted against her shackles. The frigidity in her body had faded, and she could feel the first wave of arousal building to a crest before it would crash through her. The gland on the dip of her neck throbbed, and she writhed against her tethers. When the White Coat Men split off from the larger men in black military uniforms, she couldn’t contain her stunted whines. The scent glands on each side of her neck and at the insides of her wrists were also painfully hot, as if someone had rubbed them raw. She wanted the comfort that Alpha could provide. </p><p>She wanted to swathe herself in his scent and do everything in her power to please him.</p><p>
  <em> She hated it.  </em>
</p><p>“No, no, no!” The words erupted from her in an animalistic, bleating plea. She didn’t want the fluttering in her stomach, or the tightness in her chest. They were going to throw her to some raging alpha with no means of escape, and she didn’t want that either. </p><p>He could mate her, or kill her. </p><p>Bloody hell, she just wanted to go home. </p><p>“No!” </p><p>Sucking in rasping breaths, she screamed as the White Coat Men crowded around her. The sound tore through her chest, slashing up her throat, and vibrating through the entire column of her torso. As she threw herself against her bindings once more, the futility of it all grinding against her nerves, she knew in her very bones a kind of inevitability that was a gaping maw of darkness enclosing around her. Two of the men had syringes in their hands, each filled with a clear liquid, and they struck fast. </p><p>Hands. So many of them pressed down on her, like being held underwater. The needles were only a prick in her skin before the cold of the unknown drugs slid into her veins near the inner bend of her arms.  </p><p>The injections burned, spreading through her veins like acid, and igniting every nerve-ending in their path. It was toe-curling, blood boiling pain that rose like a crescendo held on a precipice that grew and grew until it was like staring down from a great height that she longed to jump off of, if only to relieve the pain. Her heart was racing, close to bursting from her chest. She sucked in a breath. Another. Another, and yet nothing filled her lungs. Distantly, she knew she was hyperventilating, but it did nothing to ease the great sucking breaths she struggled to take. Nothing made sense.</p><p>It felt like time was speeding up, while also slowing to a screeching halt. </p><p>The conflicting thoughts swirled in her mind, and she grasped at thoughts as they slipped from her mind like it was a sieve. Her limbs jerked and twitched against their fastenings. Every noise made her start, and every movement caused her to whimper. The heat was unbearable. Her back slid over the metal surface underneath her, an unnatural sensation. The arousal pulsating between her legs reached its zenith and exploded through her in a blink.</p><p>Followed swiftly by an instantaneous, glacial sensation that crept over her, steady, inexorable.</p><p>“No. Please, no.” </p><p>Pinpricks of darkness danced in her vision. Only two of the men released her from the cuffs, helping her to her feet. Of course, in fleeting moments of sharp focus, she noticed one of them was a woman. Only a few inches taller than herself, with a pacifying scent of various familiar things, but it was the quiet fear in those subdued blue eyes that surprised her. The woman looked to be older than her by the sterling grey hairs that glinted amidst the sunny blonde hair pulled back tightly into a harsh bun. Her face had softened, marked with the indentations of wrinkles around thinning lips pressed together into a downcast line.  </p><p>“God, Trix, what have you gotten yourself mixed up in?” </p><p>She sobbed, partially aware that it was inconsequential, tripe, and uncertain who ‘Trixie’ had been. </p><p>Or was. </p><p>It was the first thing that leapt out of the incoherence of her mind. But it didn’t sound like nonsense in that split second as both women stared at each other in understanding. Swept under in a riptide, tossing about in the waves. A flash of memory, an image assigned to a feeling accompanied every magnified emotion. There was no way to know anything about the woman, especially through something as insignificant as a look, or a touch. </p><p>Yet, she knew they were both prisoners. </p><p>The room tilted, twisting and slipping out of her grasp. Another pair of hands caught her under her arms. A man. Taller than the woman, but shorter than his colleagues. He wore a constricted expression and gloves that were stretchy, blue, and stuck to her skin. The man had black hair, and he was young compared to the rest. There was sadness etched across his features, too. </p><p>They helped her walk on weak legs into another room. White on white, bright and confusing. A clouding of consciousness. The phrase bubbled up in her mind, and she gave a feeble, breathy laugh. Her feet slipped over the chilled, wet tiles, squashing the giddiness instantly. She stumbled, but the two scientists at her side tightened their grips and compensated to keep her upright.</p><p>Blondie was the one to help her into the bathtub once filled with water. She knew it wouldn’t be anything close to a luxuriating experience, but she appreciated the fact that the temperature was tepid, neither frigid nor scalding hot. Hardly warm, yet mollifying to the encroaching fever simmering under the surface. The woman handed her a bleached flannel and a bar of unscented soap, while the men filed out of the room, leaving the women alone. </p><p>“From here forward, no one can touch you.” The woman whispered, tapping both ears in warning. There was a slight accent. Yorkshire, perhaps. A hint of home. “Any scent other than your own could agitate the Asset. I’m sorry that I can’t do more.” </p><p>She sniffled, shoving the flannel and soap back into Blondie’s hands. There was no reason to beg, as futile as it was, but it spilled out of her, anyway. “I’d like to go home. Please? Don’t do this–” </p><p>“Home is a memory, sweetie.” The tender warmth in the woman’s eyes dimmed, something harsh and strained lacing her words. “Better to comply, instead of fighting it every inch of the way. Or we’ll wash you ourselves, and the Asset will rip you apart as if you’re nothing.” </p><p>Blondie watched her closely. Waiting for a response, most likely, she thought to herself. But she sat in the tub, crossing her arms over her chest, and refused to wash. It was a standoff between reason and resistance. She would not make it easier for them, even if the woman was a victim just like her. Burdensome fatigue and frustrating discomfort be damned. She would sit there all bloody day in frigid water, but she was not washing herself.  </p><p>“Very well.” The woman sighed, pursing her lips. </p><p>All softness left, and Blondie’s tone turned just a touch sour. It was like being praised by a teacher in one breath, only to receive a smack with a ruler in the next. The congenial mother attempting to help vanished, and an exasperated authority figure took her place. There was still a breath of kindness, some concern that lived in the crinkles around her eyes. The woman tilted her head a fraction to the left and reached out, stopping before touching a single matted curl. </p><p>Curious.</p><p>“You either wash yourself, or they will force your compliance. Trust me, you wouldn’t want that.” </p><p>Digging her feet in would cause things less than pleasant. Whatever they had in store, she understood they meant it as a deterrent. Yet, the threat rankled her. She didn’t care for it, the words the woman used. </p><p>
  <em> ‘Compliance will be forced.’  </em>
</p><p>Wrong. </p><p>The words were wrong. </p><p>
  <em> Compliance.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Compliance will be rewarded. </em>
</p><p>“No.” She shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest. Closing her eyes, she continued. “It’s all jumbled. Compliance isn’t forced. It’s not–”</p><p>The woman grabbed her hands out of the water, squeezing her fingers with a watery gleam to her eyes. She whispered, “If you refuse to do it yourself, they’ll send the Asset in. I’ve seen what happens to omegas with other scents on them. Make it easier on yourself, sweetie. <em> Trust me. </em>Please, trust me.” </p><p>Blondie was brimming with a whirlwind of emotions, each one as intense as the last, but forcing their way in at once. An overpowering sense of fearfulness whipped through her, as violent as a tempest surging inland from the sea. </p><p>She ripped her hands out of the Blondie’s grip. </p><p><em> Make it easier on yourself, sweetie, </em>she’d said. The unbridled horror bubbling up from the Blondie’s depths decided easily.</p><p>Taking the offered flannel and soap again sealed her concession. She lathered the fabric and scrubbed herself raw before starting on her hair. There was nothing else to do, as hopeless as it sounded. Imminent, tortuous violence, or draw out the calm before the storm as long as possible. It wasn’t much of a choice, but it was all she had for the time being.</p><p>“Now, take a deep breath.” Blondie sighed, the tranquility of her voice seeping down into her bones. “Calm your mind. You know what is best. What is best is that you comply. Compliance will be rewarded.”   </p><p>They provided miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner, sitting on the edge of the tub precariously, while Blondie crooned a vague tune. All the tension in her shoulders trickled like water between fingers. She felt buoyant, adrift on gentle waves, and in sync with the ebb and flow of the song. Airy, like she would float up out of herself at any moment. </p><p>Rinse and repeat. </p><p>“Take a deep breath. Calm your mind.” </p><p>It was a welcome relief to slip underneath the surface of the water. Dull silence pressed in on her ears as she sank down, body flat and lax along the bottom of the tub. She could only see the light dancing on the surface of the water, cloudy as it stung her eyes, but she couldn’t stop following the ripples above. And the words rolled around her head with ease. Inherent, intuitive, and primal, she sank further down into herself, darkness encroaching at the edge of her vision. Lungs burning, she blinked. She could tick away the seconds, ready to be swallowed by nonexistence, and no one could use her. No one could hurt her. </p><p><em> Compliance will be rewarded. </em> </p><p>Breaching the surface, she gulped air. Her chest was aching, tight. The fluorescent lighting was excruciating, stabbing at her eyes like needles in a pincushion. </p><p>
  <em> Where am I?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Who am I?  </em>
</p><p>“There you are.” The suddenness of the voice startled her. Blinking water out of her eyes, she looked up and found a woman staring down at her. Blonde, just graying, and blue eyes that lit up with an abundance of comfort. The woman’s face was etched with the beginnings of age, and a glassy gleam clinging to her lashes. “Welcome back, sweetie. Dry off, and I’ll escort you to your new accommodations.” </p><p>
  <em> Compliance will be rewarded.  </em>
</p><p>There was a towel sitting on the edge of the tub. She hadn’t noticed it before. Had she? It was blank, her mind. She couldn’t remember. Everything was fuzzy and dark around the edges. But she couldn’t remember if that was true. It was fuzzy around the edges. </p><p>
  <em> You know what is best. What is best is that you comply. </em>
</p><p>She did as she was told.  </p><p>The air was icy and unsettling, while steam rose off her skin. The water had been tepid, but she was stifling hot from head to toe. She dried herself off, the material like sandpaper grating against her. Wrapping herself in the towel when she finished, she noticed the room. White and sterile with graying grout. Nothing special.</p><p>Following the blonde out into a dingy, concrete corridor, she scratched at the pulsing gland at the inside of her wrist. Every few feet, she would founder, feet catching on nothing, but the blonde wouldn’t help, wouldn’t stop. The woman kept a fair amount of distance between them, and there was something vexing about it that made no sense.</p><p>They stopped at a smooth, monochromatic door. A number pad was fixed into the wall, and the woman punched in a sequence. When the door slid open, the blonde turned and flashed a courteous smile, as crisp and chipper as a spring morning. </p><p>“Home sweet home. There’ll be a pitcher of water and sandwiches on a tray by the bed. Eat and drink, then make yourself comfortable.” </p><p>
  <em> Compliance will be rewarded.  </em>
</p><p>She walked inside, tensing when the door hissed as it slid down to lock into the floor. </p><p>Another bleached room, void of color and reeking of disinfectant. A large mattress lay on the smooth, tiled ground, thick and comfortable looking. Two piles of linens and pillows sat at the foot of the bed, too. She could see the food tray, and then an open archway that led to a washroom with a standard sink, shower and toilet. There was one shelf stacked with flannels, towels, and hygienic supplies. It was clinical, in a way.</p><p>She knew intimately that she wasn’t safe in what equated to a luxury cell. Skin itching, she turned around with the need to hide. Everywhere she looked, there was no escape, only walls. </p><p>
  <em> Eat and drink. Make yourself comfortable.  </em>
</p><p>There was no cutlery, nor plates. Two sandwiches rested on the tray next to a large plastic pitcher of water. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate, and, again, did as she was told despite having no appetite. The second sandwich remained untouched, but she drank close to half the pitcher. A faint, salty aftertaste lingered on her tongue, but it hadn’t smelled off. She’d been parched, though. </p><p>
  <em> So parched.  </em>
</p><p>The minutes passed as she paced, unable to dislodge some nagging thought at the back of her mind. A haze of sedation crept up on her, causing her to pause as she stumbled into a wall. Roiling arousal coiled in her core, and her senses heightened. </p><p>No more bleach. It was replaced with a scent that enveloped her in a warm embrace. A flutter spread through her, little wings flitting furiously from her chest to her groin. </p><p>Whimpering, she dropped to the bed.</p><p>She was in heat.  </p><p>That smell wafted in from somewhere. A hint of musk in the air. Earthy, natural, but too far away. </p><p>
  <em> Alpha.  </em>
</p><p>There was an alpha nearby. </p><p>An alpha in rut. </p><p>One that could very well be en route to her. The blonde hadn’t given her an order. Maybe she was fodder. That her handler had sealed her in a cell to be mated by some unhinged, rutting alpha. It was petrifying, enraging. Biological imperative, or spiteful obstinance in the face of the inevitable. Neither would help her as an alpha thrust into her for a specific purpose. </p><p>Yet another jolt of arousal shot through her, and she fell forward on her hands, groaning. </p><p>The mattress was like a dense cloud wrapped in scratchy cotton fiber. It needed more softness, more comfort. Like a nest. Yes, a nest. That was the distraction she needed, while she waited for the spike of desire to temper. </p><p>If she made a good nest, then Alpha would be pleased. And a pleased alpha was less likely to hurt an omega. She thought that sounded about right. </p><p>She pulled blankets onto the bed first. Fleece and something woolen, but not. It was like petting a lamb, the fluffed, downy hair before the first sheering. She rubbed each blanket between her fingers, against her cheek, and sighed into the suppleness of them. So soft against her skin. She shook every single one out and arranged them on the bed. She laid the most comfortable out flat, tucked between the bottom of the mattress and the floor like a fitted sheet. </p><p>It was instinctual, nesting. She needed to hide, or find something to use as a weapon, but creating a comfortable bed became an intrinsic need. The pull to spread the blankets and sheets around roared in her ears. There were so few pillows, and what she had were placed at angles for maximum comfort. Then the linens had to be shifted, again. </p><p>She kept at it until a gentle purr vibrated in her chest. </p><p>For a short time, she was content to curl up in the bed's corner with one of the spare sheets. She eyed the door, listening to her heartbeat a furious tattoo against her chest. The seconds ticked by in–</p><p>Muffled screams erupted in the distance. Or from down a short corridor. Masculine screams. Blood-curdling, tortuous screams that would haunt her. The vague shape of a massive metal chair curled through her mind like smoke from a dead flame. It was a hulking, intimidating blueprint of machinery punctuated by the sharp crackles and pops of electricity as it came to life, hugging the face snugly. The pale, blinding flashes of static current morphed into an invariable blue glow. </p><p><em> A star encased in crystal, </em>her subconscious supplied. </p><p>It was mesmerizing, beautiful, but the pain associated with the luminescence, the whir of cogs and energy, the power inside the gem–</p><p>“No!”  </p><p>Pain. </p><p>
  <em> So much pain.  </em>
</p><p>Her gaze flew to every corner of the cell. Shower, toilet, sink, door. White on white on white.</p><p>Things snapped into place. She clutched her head between her hands as the fog in her brain cleared. The jagged edges of her fingernails cut into her scalp, but the sting was of it was grounding. What little rose from the depths of her psyche clashed with what she thought she knew to be real. Images churned over and over until they were entirely different. Far more horrifying.</p><p><em> “This will be painful, my dear. There are no prisoners with HYDRA. Only order.” </em> The waspish, accented voice whispered through her head, slithering around and stabbing her like millions of microscopic needles. She could almost see the man’s face, but not truly. Black-rimmed, circular glasses. Those swam through her vision with clarity. <em> “Do you know where Order comes from, mein süßes Mädchen? Order only comes through pain.”  </em></p><p>A transient tension gripped her in its unrelenting claws before it disappeared in a breath. She sagged back against the wall, head still in her hands, and swayed back and forth as she spiraled through the sporadic flurry of recollections. There weren’t many, but there were more than a few. Each one was more disturbing than the one preceding it. The images were all warped, misleading, but bits and pieces were clear. <em> The words were obvious. </em> It was an onslaught of the same memories on repeat, contorted and garbled in muted pigment: ashen, pallid, and dreary. </p><p>There were words that underlined the memories, like white noise, static buzzing in the background. They were there, always there. The same words, but a distinct voice. Over and over, until it became a roar. </p><p><em> “Deep breath. Calm your mind.” </em> The overlapping voices said, evenly, and with a serene lilt to the tones. <em> “You know what is best. What is best is that you comply. Compliance will be rewarded.”  </em></p><p>
  <em> Sdelay glubokiy vdokh. Uspokoy svoy razum. Vy znayete, chto luchshe. Chto luchshe, tak eto to, chto vy podchinyayetes'. Sootvetstviye budet voznagrazhdeno. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Deep breath. Calm your mind. You know what is best. What is best is you comply. Compliance will be rewarded.  </em>
</p><p>They had wanted her compliance for a reason, but she never knew why. </p><p>She <em> didn’t </em>know why. </p><p>That familiar scent of leather and steel cut through the chaos of her own distress, emphasized by the hiss of air releasing from the door, and the rush of musky arousal winding through the room. And something underneath. Pine and snow. <em> Winter. </em></p><p>That was it. </p><p>They had locked the alpha in. </p><p>They sealed her fate.  </p><p>His presence was potent, domineering. That was the first thought she had when absorbing him as a complete image seared through her membrane. Then her eyes flew from one feature to the next, connecting the set of his eyes, the cut of his jaw and how it flexed, the line of his nose and the curve of his lips, the crest of his cheekbones, the arch of his eyebrows. </p><p>Her gaze jumped to the lank brown hair that brushed against the tops of his shoulders. How those shoulders were broad and dense. Then the bulge and slope of his arms down to the large, clenched fists at his sides. His chest was the same width of his shoulders, and ever so slightly tapered into the jut of his waist and pelvis.</p><p>A thick man forged from flesh and iron, standing on sturdy legs dusted with light hairs. </p><p>One flesh arm. One molded from polished steel panels stamped with a red Soviet star. </p><p>His scent was robust and substantial. It filled the small space in an intoxicating, suffocating fashion. His essence was an overwhelming existence; a revenant peering out from behind glass, with eyes the color of storm clouds and glaciers; a magnetic manifestation of Death. The veritable embodiment of an apex predator silently watching his prey through a rictus of despondency. Impassive and vacant. There was only a tight quiver along his jaw, but the rest of him remained smooth, a statue. </p><p>“Stop!” She pleaded, slamming her head back against the wall repeatedly, and with enough force to knock herself into a stupor. “No!” </p><p>Throwing her arms out, she tried to warn the alpha off, to keep him at a distance. There was too much. <em> He was too much. </em> She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t grasp the words she wanted. </p><p>“Don’t–Can’t–No! No!”</p><p>A rumble started deep in his chest, a bone-quaking sound like a volcano soon to erupt. It curled through her effortlessly, a primal command guiding her attention up to his face. His gaze pinned her in place with a heavy weight, flaring with prepossession. She drank him in, that earthy, woodsy bouquet of him. The man’s scent rushed over the back of her tongue like an avalanche of pheromones, burying her alive with ease. She breathed it in, gulped it down, and relished the pleasant cloudiness creeping in around her periphery. He was all that she needed, and everything she wanted. A mountain refusing to yield to the worst winter storms, grounding her as the world spun out of her control.  </p><p>
  <em> Alpha. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Home. </em>
</p><p>He took a step forward. </p><p>And then another.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Eng. to German trans. (1) my sweet girl.<br/>mein süßes Mädchen</p><p>Eng. to Russian trans. (1)<br/>Deep breath. Calm your mind. You know what is best. What is best is you comply. Compliance will be rewarded.<br/>Sdelay glubokiy vdokh. Uspokoy svoy razum. Vy znayete, chto luchshe. Chto luchshe, tak eto to, chto vy podchinyayetes'. Sootvetstviye budet voznagrazhdeno.<br/>Сделай глубокий вдох. Успокой свой разум. Вы знаете, что лучше. Что лучше, так это то, что вы подчиняетесь. Соответствие будет вознаграждено.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Time jump.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>CHAPTER ONE</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>May 2015</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The trees blurred in an endless streak of green as Happy sped through the rural landscape of upstate New York. </p><p>Every so often the walls of conifers opened into rolling fields of grazing cows, horses, and bales of hay. She rubbed her gloved hands over her arms, eyes darting from one thing to the next while bouncing a foot against the floorboard of the car. Wildflowers dotted the sides of the roads in purples, yellows and whites. She tried to guess each cluster of flora before the car passed them by, but she had never ventured outside of Manhattan, let alone the entire city. The only wildflowers she could clearly remember were from too long ago, and in a different country.</p><p>“So, did you have a good appointment? Nervous about the move?” </p><p>“I don’t think she can hear us, Hapster.” </p><p>There was a distinction between the drab gray of the city, punctuated by towers of glass and chrome finish, and the agricultural terrain whizzing past. Yet, in the background of her mind, there stood the serene stillness of misty moors in the early morning, dotted with the flora of her childhood; lush in its greenery during spring through summer, brittle in the grip of autumn, soft yet stark in blankets of white by the peak of winter. </p><p>The memory was crisp. A stalwart reminder of what was and contrasting with the blurs outside the car window. The bustle of a poverty-stricken district, and the glowing matched it, pink faces of newborn babies squalling for the first time. A quarter of a life summed up in memories that passed her by in seconds from another life, tainted by the jumble of confusing glimpses of the decades between her past and her present. </p><p>Happiness and sadness, love and heartbreak, darkness and dust. </p><p>And even in the solitude of happier times, she could still hear the mechanical shifting of metal plates, smell the profound aroma of leather wrapped around her, tinged with musk, feel <em> him– </em></p><p>“Ms. Lee? Are you okay?” </p><p>“Jenny?” </p><p>“Yo, Jenny Bean! Earth to Jen!” Fingers appeared just under her nose, snapping sharply. </p><p>It was as close to a collision as ever could be when slamming back into reality. </p><p>“Ms. Lee?”</p><p>Blinking away the beginnings of tears, Jenny caught herself wringing a portion of skirt between her hands, fabric bunched in her lap. She always wore black, and the cotton-linen blends were airy and light for spring and summer. Thicker wool-type materials kept her comfortably warm in autumn and winter. Despite a few brusque opinions by the small, insulated group of friends, she hadn’t really ‘gotten with the times,’ in means of style. Day dresses, tea dresses, going out dresses, and all in various shades of black with fascinators and gloves to match. </p><p>Finally, Jenny spoke for the first time since sliding into the front passenger seat. “I’ve ripped it.”</p><p>“Well, it’s not the first dress you’ve torn, Jenny.” Jane Foster said from the back seat, far more gently than her usually abrupt tone. “You’re a whiz with a sewing machine. I’m sure you’ll have it fixed in no time.” </p><p>“This was my favorite, though.” She sighed, crossing her arms underneath her bust. “The hem is ruined.” </p><p>Darcy Lewis, having remained wedged between the backseat and the front of the car, gave a snort of laughter. “At least you didn’t scratch up your arms. Again. Besides, you need to stop dressing like you’re going to a funeral–Ow! Janey! That hurt!” </p><p>Tutting to herself, Jenny tucked her hands behind her elbows. Hopefully, that would stop her from fidgeting any further, while she listened to Darcy and Jane bicker in the back. </p><p>“You’re a bundle of nerves today, Ms. Lee.” Happy distracted her. It always amazed Jenny how the man could speak <em> through </em> squabbles without raising his voice. Truly remarkable. </p><p>Jenny nodded, the corners of her plump lips pulling up in a frail smile. “I’m of the opinion to agree with you, Happy. And please call me Jenny.” </p><p>“Tony has you rooming with Ms. Lewis.” Happy gave her a wink, like an unspoken quip about how interesting <em> that </em> would be. “And the suite is across the hall from me. If ya need help with anything, I’m right there.” </p><p>“I haven’t interacted with certain Avengers since—” she paused, reluctant to remember that first interaction. Clearing her throat, she continued, “It hardly matters. Moving into the same facility as them feels like a disaster in the making.” </p><p>Happy chuckled, rolling his eyes. She caught the act in her periphery, and she considered smacking him on the arm, but thought against it. He was driving, after all. She grumbled instead. “Oh, button it. You’re just as bad as Darcy and Natasha.” </p><p>“We’re not the one who’s been avoiding Captain Glutes for a whole year!” Darcy cut in, the usual singsong lilt to her voice when she knew she was right. It hadn’t escaped Jenny’s notice that Darcy and Jane had stopped their sisterly sniping to eavesdrop. </p><p>“Leave it, Darcy,” Jane warned, her softened scent of hydrangeas filling Jenny’s nose as a dainty hand squeezed her shoulder. “You can always hide from Captain Rogers in my suite with Natasha. We’ll be right next door, Jenny.” </p><p>Nodding, Jenny glanced back with a small smile. </p><p>If only her chest didn’t tighten at the mention of Captain Rogers. The sensation was uncomfortable, coupled with the rapid beating of her heart. No one meant anything by saying the man’s name. There was no underlying intention to poke and prod, or tease. They didn’t know that a miniscule mention of him sent her chest pounding, as fierce and loud as the drums of war. </p><p>Darcy, Happy, and Natasha could be unbearable with their ribbing. Jane, usually absorbed in her work, didn’t take part in that type of camaraderie. She was quite empathetic in the middle of the night with a container of ice cream and a spoon. Pepper and Tony had always had the excellent sense to never broach the incident from the very beginning. It was a shock to know that Tony Stark had a modicum of decorum regarding intimate matters, but Jenny also suspected that was Pepper’s doing. </p><p>But by God, Jenny would rather have remained a hermit in her flat, protected in the fortress that had been Avenger’s Tower. </p><p>“What about your appointment?” Happy asked, thankfully shifting topics as she squirmed in the passenger seat. “Did you have a good session with Dr. Garner?” </p><p>A lifetime ago, she would have kept all personal matters to herself. It was how her mother raised her. It had always been difficult for her to discuss feelings, or significant memories. Yet, Jenny felt it easy to discuss some things with her closest companions, even if it bordered the bare minimum. Offering Happy a slight nod, and a smile that faded quickly, she found the words to express her impression of that morning’s visit. </p><p>“We discussed firsts today.” She said it softly, almost a whisper, but not quite. Nibbling on her bottom lip, Jenny watched the scenery change from farms and wooded lands to the obscured road leading to the new Avengers facility. “We also talked about my time with HYDRA, the bits and pieces I remember, and I feel less weighed down. Though, I’m still not ready to discuss the loss.” </p><p>Darcy’s sweet fragrance of candied oranges permeated the car as she asked, “What kinda firsts?”  </p><p>Jenny considered it for a moment, while the car slowed before a sharp curve in the road. There would never come a time when she wasn’t appreciative of the subtle compassion that those dear to her show. Happy chose topics of lesser significance, instead of pushing her to talk more about the reality of harsher traumas, ones that had settled in her bones and left her perpetually tense. Darcy was much like a sister, immensely maternal, but lighthearted, and genuinely interested. Also, she was the only other person Jenny knew that enjoyed baking. The younger woman was chaotic in the kitchen, but made a gloomy day inside quite exciting. </p><p>Jane, though. </p><p>Jane was considerate of a strained silence, too lost in the stars. Yet she was quick to shift focus in a split second and distract people from an uncomfortable subject. </p><p>Much like Darcy. </p><p>They became fast friends, despite their combined efforts to encourage Jenny to consider Captain Rogers as <em> more </em>than an acquaintance. </p><p>Still pinning her hands behind her elbows, a nostalgic smile drifted over her lips. She looked away from the passenger side window to share the sincerity with Happy as she described what she had told Dr. Garner. </p><p>“My first day in the East End.” Jenny started, arching an eyebrow with a little smirk, some of her nervous energy fading away with the distraction. “There was also my first delivery on my own, and my first night out with the other nurses. And Alec. He was my first genuine love.”</p><p>Her little smirk faded quickly. It had nothing to do with stress, and more to do with the memory of losing love. She continued, more subdued. “I don’t think of them as much as I used to. It feels like some great theft, missing their lives. Now, I worry about James. I feel him constantly, like a ghost that lingers. He’s always there.” </p><p>“What about Captain Rogers?” Happy didn’t say it to tease, or nudge her in the man’s direction again. He actually looked and sounded gravely serious in his curiosity. “I promise I won’t tell Romanoff.” </p><p>Jenny flushed once more with a glow of warmth at the mere mention of the Captain’s name. The rosy kiss to her cheeks spread down to her chest, while her sex clenched in an act of rebellion. Everyone knew it, too. The subtle rush of arousal combined with her natural scent turned the air in the car thick with a certain longing of desire. Her body reacted before she could stop it, before she could think of something else to divert the response to anything more palatable in a confined space. </p><p>It was embarrassing. </p><p>Pinching herself between her ribs, Jenny coughed softly, and ignored the efficiency in which Happy cracked the windows to let a breeze roll through the car. If she was going to talk to anyone about Captain Rogers, she would prefer Jane or Pepper. The situation wasn’t complex, but it <em> felt </em>too personal and immensely complicated to her. She had never discussed the incident with anyone. There would be no avoidance of the man if she didn’t have a reason, and in her opinion, she had a valid reason. Yes, Happy, Darcy, and Natasha were close friends, but the former could be an incorrigible gossip after a few well mixed drinks, and the latter enjoyed meddling. Jane and Pepper were more tight-lipped as confidantes. </p><p>Thankfully, Jane diverted the conversation before it could start. “Tony mentioned that the meeting with Secretary Ross is compulsory.” </p><p>Jenny pursed her lips as she watched Happy’s features set in a deep, agitated frown. “Is the man as unpleasant as they say?” </p><p>“Worse,” Happy ground out between his teeth. “He’s an opportunist, and he’s never stopped tryin’ to get his hands on Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner. His new focus has been you. Now that the United Nations are involved, it’s like he’s emboldened, or something. I don’t trust him, but Tony–”</p><p>“Tony is trying to find a balance.” Jenny finished for him, offering a softened expression of understanding. Looking back, she could see the scowl on Darcy’s pale face, and the defiant scrunch of Jane’s elegant nose. Jenny shrugged, foot tapping against the floor of the car once more. “He’s making amends with Pepper. He loves her.” </p><p>“Yeah, but Ross–” </p><p>“Can’t be trusted.” Darcy, Jane, and Jeny recited, nodding along with the tempo of Happy’s vehement tone. </p><p>Jenny continued after the man gave a grunt of approval. “I really don’t see the point of being there. I’ve no interest in bureaucracy. Or fisticuffs. Natasha agreed to teach Darcy, Jane and I for personal reasons, not so we’ll become the newest Avengers.” </p><p>“Ross demanded it.” Happy’s tone was curt. The look he gave her spoke volumes. </p><p>The Secretary of State refused to be told no. </p><p>Darcy only muttered a vicious, “fucking bastard,” and settled back against her seat to scroll through her mobile phone. </p><p>Holding herself more tightly, Jenny sank into the silence. The second security checkpoint grew ever closer, and the compound loomed just beyond that. There was nothing she could do to avoid living under the same roof as the Avengers, unfortunately. Tony was selling the Tower, while Darcy, Jane and Jenny were the last of the building’s permanent residents to move. It was too dangerous to strike out on her own. HYDRA was still prevalent, lurking in the shadows like a predatory beast, and she would be too vulnerable on her own. Not to mention Secretary Ross, and Happy’s less than stellar review of the man had instilled a deep distrust of the US government. It wouldn’t surprise Jenny if the Secretary of State sent operatives to snatch her for examination, or a <em> breeding program.  </em></p><p>Jenny shivered involuntarily as a chill trickled up her back. </p><p>No. She preferred her gilded cage in Midtown. There, she had her own floor with Darcy and Jane, and extra security measures in place. She could use Jarvis to stay out of sight, take alternative routes to circumvent a <em> specific someone’s </em> intention to speak to her. The thought set the circle of scars pulsating around the gland on the inside of her right wrist. Massaging the tightness from the joint, she traced the imprint of teeth marks with the tips of her gloved fingers before folding her arms and pressing her hands firmly against her ribs again. </p><p>At last, the car pulled into the underground garage. </p><p>Tony was waiting to welcome them officially. There had been paperwork the week prior, a mountain of documents for security purposes, and the completion of an accelerated citizenship with Tony as her sponsor. Then a two-hour lunch through which Tony broke down over Pepper’s absence in his life. It was unexpected, but Jenny suspected he felt far more at ease in her presence than anyone else. She wondered if it was because she was a non-threat, a fellow omega. Or it was possible that HYDRA never stripped the calm she wrapped herself in. </p><p>Of course, Tony was so scintillating with a peppy, quirky charisma most of the time, that whenever he was angry or troubled, it was noticeable. He was rigid and less fluid in his movements, withdrawn. It was surprising he trusted her so implicitly to divulge his own anguish and stress, to cry, and to accept the comfort of her embrace. Afterward, Jenny realized Tony considered her a friend. Perhaps even a close friend. Closer than those he called teammates. </p><p>For an omega who strived to rub his genius and success into every Alpha’s face, Tony Stark was still a deeply emotional being. </p><p>“Alright.” Happy said, matter-of-factly with a sigh. He offered her a reassuring smile. “I’ll take you up, but Tony wanted to show you all around.” </p><p>Jenny smirked, terse and tense, and nodded. “Thank you, Happy.” </p><p>Standing behind the tall, heavily built beta, Jenny huddled close to Darcy and Jane. All three of them were omegas, but only Darcy was ‘unattached.’ Technically. Jenny’s situation was ambiguous. But the women stuck close to each other, much like a miniature pack, drawing comfort from one another in the face of an unfamiliar environment. The smells were different, unfamiliar, even in the elevator. </p><p>It was an unknown environment. </p><p>There was no lingering aroma of baked goods that Darcy and Jenny had spent hours making in their shared kitchen. Instead, there was the stale scent of multiple designations sat in the air, like they were clinging to the chrome finish of the walls. The two omegas had boxed everything from the last year together and sent it all ahead, handled by people she did not know. It would take weeks, if not months, to create a sense of hearth with Darcy. </p><p>And there was no telling if Friday, Jarvis’ replacement, would be as helpful in avoiding Captain Rogers. </p><p>The lift doors opened swiftly with a hiss of air. Tony was already waiting, flanked by Natasha and Sam, both of whom Jenny felt relatively at ease with. And that was no small feat. She understood it was to do with HYDRA, because she had always been comfortable around people before being taken. Tricky patients had been her specialty, but that had been a lifetime ago. Now she was as skittish as a doe. </p><p>“Jenny Bean!” Tony exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. Releasing Jenny, he embraced Darcy, and shook Jane’s hand out of respect. Something about ‘science bros.’ Tony was quite enthusiastic in his affections, and it was putting Jenny more on edge. With a clap of his hands, he shifted focus to Happy. “How was the drive?” </p><p>“Natasha. Mr. Wilson.” Jenny acknowledged, choosing to shake hands with each Avenger. There was a sense of jittery tension lingering on her skin after Tony’s embrace, like a residue that would fade. After that, she craved the barrier her gloves provided. “You both look well.” </p><p>Sam groaned good-naturedly. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jenny? Call me Sam. Makin’ me feel old.” </p><p>Natasha smirked, but a streak of muted blue and long brown hair, a shriek ringing out as the red-head was practically tackled, interrupted in the response she was about to give. Stumbling, Natasha righted herself with arms full of Jane Foster. The smaller woman had wrapped herself around her mate like a marsupial clinging to the limb of a tree. It was a heartwarming sight. The couple had been parted for several weeks. It reminded Jenny of her own situation, rubbing the twinge out of the mating gland in the crook of her left shoulder. That was something she would prefer not to think about most of the time. If ever. </p><p>“Alright, who wants the grand tour?” Tony called out with a clap of his hands. </p><p>Jenny was more than ready to retreat to her rooms and hide away from the mixture of scents and glass walls. The day was becoming too much, unpleasantly overstimulating. Pale colors, natural light, and people everywhere. She felt exposed like a raw nerve. </p><p>Most of all, she wanted to hide away before Captain Rogers appeared.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but the next few should be extra long to make up for it!</p><p>Be kind, drop a line!</p><p>Thanks to everyone for your support! I appreciate you all! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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